It had been his cousin. And his Aunt Andromeda too he supposed. But really, it had been Nymphadora. She was a little older than he was, and they had met once at a family reunion.
Her presence had not been expected that day, as only his mother's sister, Andromeda, had been invited, not her muggle-born husband or her half-blood daughter. But Andromeda had brought her nonetheless. All her family old members gave her disapproving looks, and kept asking Narcissa, very loudly, why she had been invited. Andromeda had wondered that herself. And as Andromeda had stood awkwardly and warily in the corner, quailing slightly under her aunt, Wulburga's, disapproving eye, her sixteen-year-old daughter had slipped through a door off to the left, to where she had seen a pair of young, silvery eyes staring up at her.
But it was undoubtedly his cousin, Nymphadora's, fault that Draco now sat on his silver silken sheets in his Hogwarts dormitory staring blankly at a letter of disownment from his father.
…
"Wotcher," the strange girl said. She was pretty, but her hair was bright pink, like bubblegum, which Draco's mother would not approve of.
"Who are you?" Said Draco, having never seen her at a family event.
"My name's Nyphadora Tonks, but call me Tonks." She said, grinning.
"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Pureblood." He stated proudly and Nymphadora coughed slightly into her arm which may have been hiding a snigger, but Draco couldn't tell.
"Nice to meet you, Malfoy Draco Malfoy." She said, and he could see her struggling to keep a straight face.
"Why are you in my hiding spot, Nymphadora?" Draco asked icily, deliberately using her first name. The girl frowned at his use of her name. Without thinking he added, "And why is your hair pink?"
"I saw you down here, and it's no fun out there. Adults are boring." Said Nymphadora, before suddenly scrunching up her face as though she were trying to remember something important. "And my hair's not pink, I dunno what you're talking about." And she was right. Her hair was now a bright shade of blue.
"You're a Metamorphmagus?" Draco said with wonder. His mother had told him about them once, saying that they only came about from interbreeding with mudbloods and muggles themselves. But he often wondered if she only said that because neither of his parents family had ever had one in their bloodline.
"That's right, kiddo." Draco was indignant, and her couldn't help but splutter out "Kiddo?!" indignantly. She grinned.
"You are a kid." She pointed out.
"I am nine years old, thank you very much. My mother says I'm so grown up now she can hardly stand it." Draco said proudly and fiercely.
"Well, I'm nearly sixteen, so that make you a kid to me." Nymphadora smiled again (Draco noticed she did that an awful lot), and Draco huffed.
"You going to Hogwarts soon?" She asked when Draco was silent for a while.
"Of course." He said proudly, "Father says I'll surely be in Slytherin. It was his house, you know. And he says it's the best there. Are you at Hogwarts? What house are you in?"
"Yes I am." She said, grinning. "I'm in Hufflepuff, just like my dad." Draco shrank back again.
"My father says that Hufflepuff is the worst house." He said haughtily. "He says that only buffoons and idiots are in Hufflepuff." Nymphadora frowned.
"Well then he's not very smart at all." She snapped. "Everyone knows the houses are equal. Dumbledore himself says that."
"My father says Dumbledore is the worst thing that ever happened to Hogwarts."
"What? He is not! Dumbledore is great. He protects everyone and supports muggleborns and everything."
"Well, muggleborns and half-bloods and other riff-raff of the sort don't deserve to go to Magic school. Father says they steal our magic."
"Your dad sounds like an idiot." Draco was silent. No one had ever said anything that outspoken about his father near him or his family. He had fought constantly for his father's affection as a younger child, constantly trying to please him. His father constantly ignored him, unless to tell him not to associate with certain people, or to tell him to mind his manners. But still Draco never dared to criticise him. No one had ever said something so deliciously dangerous. He decided he liked this girl.
"Lets go outside. You can tell me about Hogwarts." Draco said decisively, but at Nymphadora's disapproving look, he added. "Please." She grinned at him.
"Ok kiddo." The two of them slipped out from the small room that was on the left of the Reception Area, and made for the large glass doors to the garden.
In the corner, Narcissa Malfoy watched the two children slip out the door with distinct worry, her eyes narrowed at her disgraced sister's daughter.
…
"Nymphadora, is the train to Hogwarts long?" Draco asked as they sat on a bench underneath an old apple tree.
"Oh yes, it takes the whole day." She said looking hungrily at the gleaming red apples above her. "But its okay, I mean, you sit in a compartment with friends, and talk and have fun. And the food trolley lady comes around with Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs and Bertie's Beans and other yummy food."
"I love pumpkin pasties." Said Draco wistfully. "Mother hardly ever has them made. But Dobby makes them well."
"Dobby?" Questioned Nymphadora uncertainly.
"Our house elf." Said Draco as though it were obvious. "Anyway, how do they sort us into houses at Hogwarts?" He looked up at her impatiently.
"Well, it changes from year to year," said Nymphadora, a strange twinkle in her eye. "But in my year you had to wrestle a troll. And the last few years students have to get past a full grown giant." Draco looked at her, horror struck.
"But—But—I—" he stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Nymphadora eyed him very seriously for a moment before bursting into a loud snorting laugh. Draco looked at her as though he didn't see at all what was funny about the situation.
"I'm joking Draco!" She laughed, and slowly his horrified face melted into a guilty one.
"But, Nymph—" he began, but she cut him off.
"It's Tonks." She said flatly, her happy smile for the first time leaving her face. Draco opened his mouth for a moment to argue, but thought the better of it.
"Well, Tonks, how do we really get sorted into houses?" He asked eagerly.
"You'll see when you get there, kiddo. But I can tell you that Hogwarts is beautiful. The gardens and the castle walls and the homely feel it gives you. I'm not sure I can even describe it in words."
"I can't wait." Draco sighed. Suddenly something struck him.
"Nym—Tonks?" He asked. "Why were you attending our family gathering, and why have I never seen you before?" Tonks looked towards the large house up the hill.
"My disgraced mother was invited, for the first time since she was cast aside by her own family. My mother, Andromeda, was disowned by her family for marrying a muggleborn wizard. I think she's your mother's sister. And I don't think I was even supposed to come with her." Draco looked at her sharply.
"Well my father says that Mudbloods and blood-traitors should never be allowed to taint our lines. If I had a sister that disgraced our family like that I would never allow her back on my family grounds."
"Well, my mother says that your father is a bigheaded idiot." Snapped Tonks. "My mother fell in love with my father, and that's all there is to it. If you meet the right person, and you fall in love with them, then why shouldn't you be allowed to marry them just because of stupid pureblood tradition? It's unfair." Draco, once more looked shocked. No one had ever dared or, as far as he could tell, wanted, to speak against his father's opinions. In fact, the thought of not believing his father had never even crossed Draco's mind until now. He closed his mouth suddenly, which he realised had been flopping like a fish's. He grinned at Tonks, and said the bravest thing he had done with all his nine years.
"I think you're right." He said, disagreeing and disobeying his father, and feeling decidedly excited and grown up. Draco decided that it felt wonderful. They talked for an hour or so, Tonks gradually beginning to wipe away his father's teachings and opinions, before Andromeda collected Tonks and they left.
…
The children had met up constantly, but secretly, for the best part of two years, before the time had come for Draco to finally go to Hogwarts. Sometimes his mother would watch him go, and he felt sure she knew where he was going, though he couldn't tell whether she was happy about it or not. It didn't matter, Draco thought to himself forcefully on many occasions, Nymphadora was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He was currently sharing a compartment with two of his father's friends children on The Hogwarts Express, Platform Nine and Three Quarters far behind them. But Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were a bore, they only talked about Slytherin and how good their fathers were. Draco tuned them out, instead watching the scenery pass by with mild interest. Finally he decided he would go up to see the conductor and find out how long they had left on the train
"I'm stepping out for a minute." Draco said to Crabbe and Goyle. "Don't follow me, please." They looked slightly taken back, despite his politeness.
"You don't tell us what—" Crabbe began, but Draco cut him off.
"My father is a Malfoy, and I am a Malfoy." He snapped with a convincing air of authority. "I expect the same respect you would treat my father with." Crabbe and Goyle looked sufficiently reprimanded. According to pureblood society, the Malfoys were much higher rank than the Crabbes and Goyles. Of course Draco didn't actually believe that anything that one couldn't control, like blood, should hold any weight in society, but it served a purpose for buffoons like Vincent and Gregory.
Sneering like Draco had seen his father do on many occasions, he stepped out of his compartment, closing the door behind him. He let out a small breath and continued down the train to where he had seen his cousin get on the Express. He passed several compartments on the way, but he stopped and did a double take when he saw who exactly was sitting in one of the compartments. A small, relatively pale, skinny boy with messy black hair was sitting down, chatting excitedly to a tall, gangly red-haired boy with an abundance of freckles covering his pale skin, who was unmistakably a Weasley.
The Weasleys were a pureblood family, but they 'associated' with muggles, muggleborns and halfbloods regularly, making them blood-traitors, people with blood status who ignored their heritage, to Pureblood society.
The small boy across from him was quite ordinary, and he wore a pair of glasses that were held together with Muggle (non-wizard) tape. But the most curious thing about him was that on his forehead, as the boy pushed his hair out of his face, was unmistakably a scar shaped exactly like a bolt of lightning. Draco Malfoy knew exactly who this boy was, and he was exceptionally famous.
Before Draco was born, there had been a Wizard from Hogwarts who took a liking to the dark arts, who, once he left school, gathered followers and began to wreak havoc on muggleborns and anyone who defied him or defended them. A darkness fell over the wizarding world, and innocent people lived in constant fear of the wizard. You were either with him or against him, there was no in between. And the wizard, whose name was Voldemort, became known, out of fear, You-Know-Who or He Who Must Not Be Named.
You-Know-Who had often sought out wizards or entire wizarding families who had defied him. And once he decided to kill you, you never stood a chance. And on one particular night, Halloween of 1981, He had chased down a particular family. The Potters had shown defiance on many occasions, and so they proved a logical target for You-Know-Who to eliminate. And he had gone to their home in Godric's Hollow, a small wizarding settlement, and murdered first James Potter, and then Lily, his wife. And finally he had turned to the baby, and killed him. But somehow, he couldn't kill little Harry Potter, and the curse rebounded upon him, saving the Wizarding world, at least for the time being, for not all believed he had died.
Harry Potter had been sent to live with muggles, the only souvenir from the horrible night being a thin, lightning shaped scar on his forehead.
Draco wasn't sure he wanted to meet Harry Potter, after all, he was certain his own father had not been on his side during the war, and Harry probably didn't want to meet him. He made to keep moving, but the compartment door suddenly slid open.
"Can we help you?" Asked the red-haired Weasley. "You've been standing there for an awful long time."
"Have I?" Said Draco, his pale skin flushing with embarrassment. "I—Sorry. I didn't mean to—Are you Harry Potter?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Draco's cheeks tinged pink and he looked at the floor. He hadn't meant to sound so rude.
"Yes." Said Harry curtly. He didn't say anything else. Draco could have kicked himself for making himself look like such an ass.
"I—Um, Hi. I'm Draco Malfoy." He said, stumbling over his words. Ron snorted.
"This is Ron Weasley." Harry said, jerking his thumb at the tall boy. Ron glared at him.
"So what do you want, Malfoy?" Snapped Ron, sneering at him.
"Sorry." Said Draco quickly and rushed off down the hall, his face flooding with embarrassment. He could hear Ron telling Harry about his family.
"The Malfoy's were one of the first to come back from You-Know-Who's side. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. Says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the dark side. He'll end up in Slytherin for sure." Ron said. Sadly, thought Draco, what Ron had said was probably true.
Dejected, he made his way through the train to his original destination. He hated how easily he blundered and blushed under pressure. He had always been confident, knowing his family was high-ranking and earned a good-deal of money. But since Tonks, who he had lately taken to calling Dora, had come into his life, his self-confidence had dropped a great deal, and a shyer personality shone through. Draco despised it.
…
The visit to the conductor got him a free pumpkin pasty, and told him that they still had at least two hours to go. Miserably, he wandered down the train, taking as much time as he could to get back to his shared compartment, trying to avoid Gregory and Vincent for as long as possible. Draco was so busy taking his time, that he didn't see the two people in front of him, and walked right into them.
"Sorry!" Draco said, reddening again. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you." The people he had bumped into were obviously first-years too; a boy and a girl. The girl had rather vivacious curly brown hair and rather large front teeth. The boy had straight blonde hair, and looked miserable. Draco came to his senses and held out his hand.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, his pureblood training kicking in. The girl looked at his hand in surprise before shaking it apprehensively.
"Hermione Granger," she said, in a bossy, no-nonsense sort of tone. "And this is Neville Longbottom. He's lost his toad, have you seen it?"
"No, I'm sorry." Said Draco, slightly surprised by her bossy manner.
"Are you in your first year? You look about my age, you know. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. Oh, do you know who I've just met in one of the compartments?" Hermione didn't give him time to guess.
"Harry Potter! I've read all about him in several books that I got for background reading, you know. So do you know what house you'll be in? I really hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, you know. I heard that Dumbledore himself was in it. If it comes down to it, I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad. And blue is a nice colour… Anyway I suppose we'd better get going, look for Neville's toad, you know. You should change into school robes, Draco, I expect we'll be arriving soon." All of that was said very fast, and Draco stood blinking for a few seconds after she had left. Then he hurried back to his compartment, figuring he had about an hour left, to get changed.
…
Draco and his new classmates stood in a small room within the ginormous castle that was Hogwarts. They had come across a large black lake on little four person boats, the guide, a ginormous man called Rubeus Hagrid, had taken one boat to himself. They were then met at the castle gate by a very stern looking witch dressed in emerald green robes, her long black hair in an immaculate bun. Professor McGonagall led them through the castle, where the muggleborns wondered at the moving pictures, and everyone wondered at the sheer size of their home for the year. The students were crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville Longbottom's, the boy who had lost his toad, cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ronald Weasley's smudged nose. Draco watched Harry Potter nervously try to flatten his hair from the corner of his eye.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." People around him began immediately whispering about what the sorting ceremony might be. Lucius, Draco's father, had of course told him before he departed on the train, so he knew what others nervously wondered about. To his right, he could hear Hermione Granger whispering spells franticly. Ron was going on about wrestling a troll, and other painful tests.
Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air - several people behind him screamed.
"What the—?"
He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Draco knew ghosts existed of course, but he had never actually seen one. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying:
"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.
Nobody answered.
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."
Draco stepped in behind Ronald Weasley, who was behind Harry Potter, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Hogwarts reminded Draco of the Malfoy Manor, the ceilings just as high and grandeur, but much older. But as Tonks had said two years ago, it gave the castle a homely feel that Draco found he liked very much. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.
Up above, the ceiling was obviously charmed to look like the night sky, but that didn't make the velvety dark blue blanket and thousands of glittering stars any less impressive. It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens. The Manor didn't have bewitched ceilings, either. With that thought, Draco decided he liked Hogwarts much better than home.
Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Narcissa wouldn't have let it in the house.
Everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, and Draco joined them. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
Draco suddenly realised how nervous he was. He had always just assumed that he would be in Slytherin. But what if he wasn't? What if he ended up in Hufflepuff? He shook his head firmly. Tonks' house is not a bad one, and if I do get sorted there, I will wear it with pride. He was quite bright, and he wouldn't mind ending up in Ravenclaw. Gryffindor wasn't going to happen, so he didn't bother thinking about the consequences.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and the attention was turned back to the front of the hall. Looking sharply at the students who were still talking to each other in hushed whispers, she began calling student's names from a long piece of parchment in her hands.
"Abbot, Hannah!" She called, and a small, freckled girl with blonde pigtails walked up to the front and sat on the stool, looking nervous. The hat was placed on her head so that it covered her eyes. The hat twitched, jumping to life, soon calling out "Hufflepuff!" to the hall, and the table in the middle on the right cheered as she walked, smiling shyly, towards her table.
"Bones, Susan!" Called McGonagall.
"Hufflepuff!" Shouted the hat again, and Susan ran off to join Hannah at the Hufflepuff table.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far right exploded with cheers; Draco could see a pair of obviously Weasley twin brothers catcalling.
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. I've got no need to worry, Draco told himself firmly. "Corner Michael" went to the Ravenclaw table along with "Cornfoot, Stephen". Vincent Crabbe, one of the goons Draco had shared a compartment with, went with "Davis, Tracey" to the Slytherins while "Entwhistle, Kevin" to Ravenclaw.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Sometimes, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnegan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy who was in front of Harry Potter in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor. "Goldstein, Anthony" became a Ravenclaw and "Goyle, Gregory", the other idiot from the train, a Slytherin before…
"Granger, Hermione!"
Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Draco was rather surprised; he'd thought she would end up in Ravenclaw. Daphne Greengrass was called up from behind him.
"Slytherin!" the hat called a second later. Then "Hopkins, Wayne" (Hufflepuff), "Jones, Megan" (Hufflepuff), and "Li, Sue" (Ravenclaw) were sorted and left for their respective houses.
When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Isobel" who then became a Ravenclaw. Finally it came,
"Malfoy, Draco."
Draco swaggered forward, with an air of confidence that wasn't there. The hat dropped over his eyes just as he sat on the stool, and all he could see was the black inside of a dusty old hat.
"Ahh…" Said a small voice whispered in his ear. "Now, then Mr. Malfoy, you are a difficult case. Let's see then, you want to prove yourself to your father – an obvious house, I might say – but then there is also Nymphadora… but you are certainly not a Hufflepuff." Draco, to his chagrin, felt quite relieved at that.
"You certainly possess the smarts for Ravenclaw, but good grades are not your concern, and you're not strikingly brave, though I can see courage within you." The hat continued. "My, my, you are difficult. Well, considering you seem to be unlikely to get on with other Slytherin's standards of blood status and higherarchy, then it better be, GRYFFINDOR!" Draco heard the last word shouted out to the rest of the school.
Draco experienced an extremely strange feeling as McGonagall pulled the hat off his head. His heart seemed to be sinking and jumping for joy at the same time. His stomach also dropped when he heard the apprehensive and surprised whispers breaking out across the hall. No one could believe a Malfoy, who had all been sorted into Slytherin for centuries, of all people was sorted into Gryffindor.
Carefully, so that his legs didn't buckle and give way, he walked, not so confidently, over to the Gryffindor table. He sat down beside Hermione, who was across from a tall red-headed boy with thick glasses and a shiny badge with a large, obvious 'P' on it. The Prefect shook his hand, grinning,
"Congratulations, Malfoy!" He whispered happily, as if it was the best thing in the world to have a Malfoy sitting at his table. "Better than your father, eh?" He said, grinning again, but at the mention of his father, Draco felt slightly ill. A boy named Ernie Macmillan joined the Ravenclaw table.
"I'm Percy Weasley, by the way, Prefect." The red-head said, as "Malone, Rodger" was sorted into Hufflepuff. Draco nodded at Percy, smiling nervously, before turning back to the front of the room
Draco could see the table more clearly from here. On the edge sat Hagrid, the giant that had lead them across the table. In the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Draco recognized him at once from his many chocolate frog cards. Chocolate frogs were charmed to jump around like a real frog, and each package came with cards of famous wizards, some more rare than others. Draco had all the cards. ("Moon, Lily" sat down next to Lavender at Draco's table) Next to Dumbledore sat Professor McGonagall, and then a tall man with an abnormally large nose, and stringy, rather greasy-looking black hair. Draco recognised him as Severus Snape, Draco's Godfather. Severus was looking at Draco rather disappointedly; he no doubt expected Draco to end up in Slytherin.
Beside Severus was a strange looking professor who was wearing a large purple turban. He was wringing his hands, and looking nervously from side to side, as though he expected danger any second.
There weren't many people left to be sorted now. "Nott, Theodore" (Slytherin), "Parkinson, Pans" (Slytherin), then a pair of twin girls, "Patil, Padma" and "Patil, Pavarti", who were sorted into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, then "Perks, Sally-Anne" (Ravenclaw), and then— "Potter, Harry!"
As Harry Potter stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. Even Dumbledore leaned forward slightly.
"Potter, did she say?" said the Prefect.
"The Harry Potter?" asked Seamus Finnegan in awe. Their whispers were echoed all across the hall.
The hat sat for about a minute before shouting out to the hall,
"Gryffindor!" Draco's table burst into loud applause without a second's delay, calling Harry's name out excitedly.
Harry took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was certainly getting the loudest cheer yet, though he didn't seem to notice it. The Prefect across from Hermione Granger shook his hand vigorously, while a pair of red-haired Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
After Harry, there were now only eight people left to be sorted. "Rivers, Oliver" became a Hufflepuff, "Roper, Sophie" a Gryffindor, "Runcorn, Elizabeth" joined the Slytherins, "Smith, Sally" a Hufflepuff, "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Draco, sat down beside him, grinning. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ronald Weasley's, the redheaded boy from Harry Potter's carriage, turn. He was pale green by now. A second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" and Ronald joined them, collapsing into the chair next to Harry.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry Potter as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. Draco looked around his table, his eyes landing longingly on the golden plates and cutlery sitting in front of him. The pasties on the train seemed hours ago. The hall fell silent, and Draco looked up, noticing that Dumbledore, was standing up, his arms spread, ready to address the school. He looked at them over his half-moon spectacles before beginning.
"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Draco stared. Is he mad? Was his first thought about Dumbledore's strange speech. He began to wonder if perhaps his father was right about him.
Across the table, Draco heard his sentiment reiterated by Harry Potter to Percy the Prefect.
"Dumbledore? Mad?" Said the prefect airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But, yes, he is a bit mad. Potatoes, Harry?" Draco looked down at the table, surprised at Percy's offer. To Draco's amazement, the previously empty golden plates were now piled with any type of food you could imagine.
Throughout the night, Draco tried to sample every type of food he could. At the Manor, they had fancy, exotic foods, and drank the finest wines and juices. Here, Draco could eat as much as he wanted without worrying about looking rude for taking second helpings. There was so much food he had never been allowed to eat; beef pie, garlic-covered bread, roast beef (though he'd had this once in a winter roast), roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops (he'd had these for lunch once at his Tonks' place for lunch), sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup.
Draco was startled suddenly out of his amazing-tasting-food-induced-reverie by Ronald's cry of,
"I know who you are! My brothers told me about you — You're Nearly Headless Nick!" This caught Draco's attention. How could one be nearly headless?
"I would prefer Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, if you—" the ghost in the ruff from the small room earlier began stiffly, but a sandy-haired boy called Seamus Finnigan interrupted.
"Nearly headless?" He said incredulously, "How can you be nearly headless?"
Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.
"Like this," he snapped irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So — new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable — he's the Slytherin ghost." He added at the looks of confusion.
Draco looked towards the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Crabbe who did not look too pleased with the seating arrangements. Draco grinned in spite of himself.
"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
…
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Draco was so full by this time that he could barely fit in a slice of chocolate (his utter most favourite thing in the world) tart, and a scoop of fine chocolate chip vanilla bean ice cream, his favourite flavour. He even managed a teaspoon of chocolate Jell-O.
After he was totally filled to the brim with the delicious food and rich, luscious pumpkin juice, Draco sat back to listen to conversations. Hermione Granger was talking excitedly with Percy Weasley (the red-haired prefect) about lessons. A few girls further up the table were talking animatedly about witches' fashion compared to muggle fashion.
The other first-year boys were talking about their families. Ronald Weasley had five other brothers, Bill was the oldest and worked as a curse-breaker in Egypt, Charlie worked with Dragons in Romania, and the other three, Percy, and twins, Fred and George, were at Hogwarts still. Ron also had a younger sister, Ginny.
Harry Potter had grown up with muggles and hadn't known he was a wizard until recently. His aunt and uncle had told him his parents had died in a car crash, and his cousin Dudley had bullied him incessantly.
Seamus Finnegan, who spoke in a thick Irish accent, joked about how his muggle father had been given a nasty shock when he discovered he was married to a witch.
Then Neville Longbottom spoke up,
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."
"What about you, Draco?" Harry asked, and it took Draco of guard.
"M-me?" He stuttered, slightly confused.
"What's to tell?" snapped Ronald. "His father was on the side of you-know-who, he's got more money than anyone ever needs—"
"And what have you got Ronald?" Snapped Draco back, "You've got red hair, freckles, and more siblings than you're family can afford." Ron's face went as red as his hair and he glared at Malfoy.
"Well at least I haven't been sheltered and coddled by my snobbish mother." He said.
"Don't you dare!" Draco snarled, and his ears went a very dark pink. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Weasley."
"Ron," said Harry, "Shut it." Draco grinned at him.
"Sorry." He said, "Got a little carried away there. Anyway, my father, Lucius, is from a long line of high-status purebloods, and my mother, Narcissa, was origionally from the Blacks, a higher-ranking family than even the Malfoys. Before they all died out, they were the richest family of purebloods in England. And I was born, and my parents provided me with every whim, just to keep me out of the way. And that's all there really is about Draco Malfoy. Except that my father will not be pleased at the house I've ended up in." Seamus Finnigan laughed, and even Ron allowed himself a grin. Lucius Malfoy would not be happy at all. The other boys continued chatting, but Draco drifted back into listening to conversations around him. He blissfully enjoyed being so full he was sleepy.
"Ouch!" Said Harry, rather suddenly. Draco looked up. Harry had clapped a hand to his forehead in pain.
"What is it?" asked Percy.
"Are you okay?" Asked Draco at the same time.
"N-nothing, I'm fine." Harry said cautiously, giving them a distracted smile.
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" He asked a few seconds later.
"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to — everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape. You want to watch out for him too, he's awfully biased towards his Slytherins, and despises Gryffindor particularly." Percy replied. Professor Quirrell must have been the strange looking professor with the purple turban.
…
When at last the desserts too had disappeared, Dumbledore stood up once more. The hall fell silent.
"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbid- den to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.
And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." A few people laughed, including Harry, but Dumbledore, for some reason, had given Draco the feeling that he was deadly serious.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Draco noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
And the school bellowed:
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot."
Draco had picked a tune called "Little Dragon", that his mother used to sing to him when he was young, but sang so quietly, you wouldn't have heard him anyway.
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Draco was so full, he felt like he was carrying around legs made of lead. He was too sleepy to say hello to the people in the portraits along the corridors, who were whispered and pointing as they passed. The first years climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Draco was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.
"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves — show yourself."
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.
"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"
He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.
"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."
At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
"Password?" she said.
"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it — Neville needed a leg up — and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.
"Now then," said Percy to the group of exhausted first-years, "As you can see, this is the Gryffindor commonroom. Up those stairs there, the boys dormitories are through the seventh door to the left, girls, the same, but to the right. You'll find your trunks have already been transported to your rooms, placed at the end of your beds, and your clothes and belongings have been distributed into your chests. Find your beds, and I would suggest you all get to sleep right away; classes start tomorrow. You'll find your timetables have been stowed away in the first drawer of your bedside table."
At the top of a spiral staircase — they were obviously in one of the towers — they found their beds at last: six four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed. Draco changed his sheets silently to the silver silken ones he had brought with him.
"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered through the hangings. "Get off, Scabbers! You pathetic little rat — he's chewing my sheets." Draco grinned to himself, and Harry laughed a little, though Ron probably didn't hear, because he was already snoring away. Harry's rhythmic deep breathing followed soon after, along with the other boys'. Soon, Draco was the only one left awake.
He lay there for a little while, going through the day's events, when there came a tapping from the window. Draco ignored it at first, but when it persisted, Draco slipped out of bed, pulled his slippers on, and shuffled over to the window.
Outside, a large, majestic, tawny owl sat on the sill, taping the glass with its beak. Recognising the owl as his mother's, Draco carefully opened the window, and untied the letter from the owl's foot. The owl flew away immediately, meaning no reply was necessary.
Draco closed the window and looked at the letter. Dread filled him. There was only one reason he would be getting a letter this late with his father's neat hand-writing on the front. Very slowly, Draco opened the letter, his heart in his mouth.
Dear Draco,
I have been recently informed by my house-elf that you were sorted into Gryffindor. I couldn't believe that any son of mine would be sorted like that, for that would be blood treachery. Dobby said that he was telling the truth, so I visited the headmaster's office, only to find that it was true – my own offspring betrayed me.
I must say I am more than disappointed in you, and I deny having a blood-traitor for a son. You are hereby disowned from the Malfoy family, and automatically expelled from the rights to access the Malfoy vault. At Narcissa's request, you may, if you wish, at the end of this year, return here, and attend Durmstrang instead, to rid this family of the dishonor you have placed upon us.
Sincerely,
Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
Draco stared at the letter blankly for some time.
Suddenly, as though realising what it really was, dropped the letter as though it had burned him. Then he thought the better of it and tore it up, casting it out the window. Tears threatened as he crawled back under his sheets. He had never shed a single tear in his life, but now they began to well over the brim, flooding down his cheeks uncontrollably. If he had never met Tonks that day, he would be in Slytherin, receiving chocolates from his parents, and still, in his father's eyes, an achievement. He would not be faced with the choice of leaving his long awaited school or disownment and dishonor.
All his life, Draco had tried desperately to please his father. Everything he had ever done had been so that his father would smile at him, or hug him, or maybe even tell Draco that he loved him. But he never got any of that, no matter how hard he tried. Draco had received his father's smile only once in his life, and since then his highest goal was just to see it again. Draco had supposed that one day, perhaps the day he was sorted into Slytherin, pride would shine in his father's eyes, and Draco would be content. But now that day could never come; not now that he was in Gryffindor. One small tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and Draco felt it roll down his cheek, across his chapped lips and off the edge of his chin. He scrunched his eyes together, his mind shattered and frenzied.
Draco, in his living memory, had never cried about a single thing. He hadn't cried when he had been four, and he had slipped and grazed his knee. He didn't cry when he ran into the Manor walls at seven and broke his nose, or when it was healed. He had never cried when his father smacked him for disobedience.
But this time, somehow, something was different; something changed. Forgetting the tough way he had been brought up, he let the big, fat tears fall. He let them roll down his cheeks and onto the silken sheets, and let them take him into a fitful slumber.